you were born in a veil of fiery snow. low blood pressure and saucer-lights, they pulled you out, and you emerged in absolute perfection. 

i'm warming my hands in the morning, and touching my chest to your cheek. you're living for both of us, breathing in the affection sent in waves of air.

what am i to do with something so delicately pure?

is having a baby.

unraveling the mysteries
of attractive verbs and nouns
you whisper so seductively
taking me deeply
where
my thoughts begin to drown

plunging deeper
deeper still
into the moors of pulse
finger on my wrist
you lead,
impervious to remorse

feel the heat
between my legs
rise in condescending cloud
dive again
into the waves
where we can't make a sound

celebrate the sweat and dance
losing all
control
resurrect steaming foam
tendrils begging
for more

calming calming
down the pipe
dreaming in
verbose surf
wrapped in adjectives
relax
to sleep
upon the shore

i had done it as a favor to him. at one point we were almost-lovers but today we sat look at each-others' others. i liked her, but it was apparent there was a wall of vast proportions, propped by the sick propulsion of assuming i cared to scale the wall like a medieval knight and conquer her cries of denial. my other was looking much the same at my almost-lover, but wasn't as skilled at keeping the walls propped. he laughed at his jokes, sunk into his charm, and looked at me, defeated, knowing almost was the better man no matter how he tried to deny it.

almost introduced me to his friend, damir, a smug snake of slithering approximation. a blind man could have seen the envy and utter incapability of genuine creation oozing from damir's slick smile, eyes that scaled you, weighed you, and decided upon your soul without an ounce of knowledge. it would have been appropriate, if he were a worthy opponent. he wasn't.

almost was enamored at the thought of having a camera man with equipment, a small llc already set up, and 2 jobs under his belt... even if the jobs were mediocre at best, if you were generously uncritical. apparent to me was the exact aptitude that damir held in his manipulative gaze and ericsonian words to convince others to provide for him the motive power to be at least perceived as a creative genius.

after meeting damir almost asked me with breathless excitement, "will you work with us on it?"

i very slowly, deliberately, explained to almost that i would work only with him, and that i considered damir as completely non-consequential. almost was shocked at my irreverence to the bearer of digital goodies, but silently accepted my proclamation. he knew if he didn't, i wouldn't.

damir made no secret of his disdain for me. despite my disturbing child hood, i've never had the word "why" beaten from my immediate vocabulary, and damir wasn't pleased with my absolute freedom in utilizing the word as often as he opened his mouth to utter something half-cognizant. he proclaimed publicly his ever-lawful damnation of everything i was. i publicly proclaimed my utter non-attention to anything he said, and laughed when reminded at infrequent times by mutual acquaintances.

as i predicted, damir was the fall of my dear almost's prize creation. despite my many reminders to be more attentive to the details of each partition of a film, compartmentalized in my mind like a very intricate and beautiful puzzle of essential pieces, damir had insisted that his approach to technical skill was much more thorough. i did not argue in heat; i simply let his fire die, by allowing him to do as he wished. to no one's surprise, the project was a technical flop with less than amateur expertise applied to the audio, the lighting, the f-stop, the iris... the picture looked awful, something that even the most placid of audience couldn't forget as they watched.

with his failure damir's immense dislike for me grew. the rumors continued to grow a garden of discontent but i remained in non-response. i knew those who were of no concern to me would weed themselves out of my life.

i found, to my disappointment, but not to my surprise, that almost was among those of no-concern. this came to my attention almost three years after the project. publicly attempting to humiliate me with his barely-competent debate skills, with almost in presence, damir was embarrasingly defeated by my nonchalant and effortless ability to defeat his flawed logic and lack of evidence. almost was a silent by-stander, neither apologizing nor steering us in another direction. without investment, i allowed almost to make his choice.

shortly after, damir contacted me privately. amused, i read his message as an ironic parody to one of my favorite books. 

"hello,

let me apologize for letting things get out of hand. i didn't mean to accuse you of being holier than thou art, i was simply frustrated for a number of reasons. i feel as if you never gave me a chance to know you, to be accepted as worthy of your time. we both work in much the same capacity, i like to think, and that makes me curious of your intentions. what do you honestly think of me? my work? this is very important to me."

my response may have come across as cryptic to him, but to me it was clear as a bell, and with the purity honesty could only harbor.

"i don't think of you. i don't think of your work. you and i do not function even on the most basic level of congruent thought and action. your motivations are entirely backwards. i don't expect you to appreciate my emotionless honesty, nor understand my honest prognosis. but if you must know, this is the extent of my thoughts about you."

after that i expected damir to send me a message of angry misunderstanding that i knew i would have no desire, nor ability, to make him understand. instead, i received this...

"i suppose i can't be hurt or surprised by this. i've always despised you, because you are one of the few people i can't imagine the world existing without. you are essential. you ARE. i'm sorry if i'm not more clearly adherent to this thought process, but i promise you this is true."

maybe he did understand. if this was true, then i more now than ever could not support him. he was blatantly taking a part the greatness of man, in complete knowledge, knowing he was capable of doing the opposite.

i never replied.

after months of watching you from a far, you found me.

it wasn't a reunion, it was a natural pick up of where we had last been, as if no time had elapsed. gently you scooped a handful of sand in your fingers, watching the grains slip dully down your skin, your jade eyes widening and then narrowing with each clump that dropped.

you had grown a grizzly beard after all these months, and it suited you. we didn't talk of what happened before or what sat between us now, like heavy lead barriers that drew our magnetic attraction into a dizzying sway. instead you murmured softly, "we have a budget this time."

i nodded deftly, and ducked my chin into my chest. the wind had picked up, and it was blowing us forward with a coercive fierceness. 

"you could come back." your green eyes waited for mine to meet them. it always amazed me that you still looked half your age, not a gray stubbly hair to be found. it was as if time couldn't touch you and your titan zeal. you knew the questions i wanted to ask, but never would.

"she's in thailand right now, teaching english. the kids went with her. i won't see them until november." and naturally as a flower unfolding, you placed my hand in yours. i worked consciously at controlling the involuntary shiver that coursed through my joints.

we walked in silence, farther and farther away from the beach town. i had met you at the terminal, dressed in a white sarong over a modest purple swim suit. as you stepped off, i noticed you wearing a hat that reminded me of crocodile dundee, an outrageous yellow shirt, and khaki shorts. you looked like every ray of sunshine.

you smiled tentatively as we silently walked inches a part, never touching, to pick up your overnight bag. neither of us had spoke until we began walking by the sea.

i knew you were absorbing every detail of me, as i was now, repainting the picture of our last meeting. my light red hair was sunkissed and streaked, and freckles spread across my nose, shoulders, collarbone.

that night, as we sat looking at a dark ocean of blues and greys, you began to trace the pattern of freckles with your lips, making me gasp. you siezed my hands over my head and pushed them down into the sand. i surrendered and closed my eyes to the overwhelming feeling of fireworks and half spoken words.

new year, new afflictions.

i've become quite addicted to my new Xbox360, reading on my porch drinking sweet tea, and waking up with the birds.

with this comes a sick yearning for travel, an ulcer from recent stress (thank my family--every single one of them has asked for a personal loan on bank a la christina... including my poor destitute parents and lazy 19 year old sister), and a strange feeling in my neck when i sleep...

sigh.

i will win this month's battle.

i'm currently fighting extreme adrenal exhaustion... this happens when your endocrine system has been so taxed, that your body is creating toxic amounts of stress chemicals, such as cortisol, and causing all of your functions to slow, become tired easily, and work at a less than optimal level (more like a bare minimum).

since i have to hyper-focus on my work, which has included over 300 type-written copy, i have not been able to spew my emotional gutter junk in my normal post-haste poetic fashion... however... do not be alarmed.

right now i am subsiding off of an almost purely liquid and raw-food diet, to clean my adrenals and rebuild the foundation for their balance. if you're curious this includes copious amounts of loose-leaf macha green tea sweetened with pomegranite/blueberry juice, water, steel cut oats (no sugar added), almonds, mangoes, and berries of all sorts.

i'm slowly feeling much better, but please don't expect anything exceptionally poignant in the foreseeable future, as there are only 6 weeks left in the year, and while i undergo a rationing of energy-enhancers, i still have atleast 7 more places i will be traveling to do business. as you can probably guess, i may be shooting myself in the foot with limiting my consumption of blood--err--i mean coffee.

if i seem to be silent and/or sullen in responding, please graciously accept that i am trying to contain the mean-ass firedragon inside of me that has been sleep-less and without rest for over 2 months. unless you feel the need to poke this dragon with a stick and be consumed by it's creatively malicious verbal fire, i suggest just saying hi and sending me beautiful inspirational messages. 

in the event that i am gone for longer than a period of 14 days, you can have it on good authority that i have either passed away from caffiene withdrawals, or that they have locked me in the looney bin for jumping over the counter of starbucks to rip open a costco-sized bag of french-roast and consume the beans whole while screaming, "sweet mother of zeus, i will be restored to full power if it is the last thing i do on this bloody orbiting green hell."

</end captains log >

awaken!
life stirs
from the marrow
of your bones

fingers twitch
the corners of
your mouth
rise

yet you still lay
in a position
of reprise

hopeless
hapless
wandering through life
pondering it's meaning

it lies within you
created with your
every action

what do you wish life
to mean?

we're swimming in this ectoplasm... you call it my dreams, i call it the mire of my mind. reaching, pulling, rushing, we are within, but without. i want to dive, yet you call my name; can ghosts be as warm as your former embrace? we can't be, so we struggle, struggle, struggle to be "we," "us," "them," but we are within, yet without. our love is the arsenic we're warned about. i'm on the edge and tipping over, spilling over, this cup is so full. you stand back--change fuels your fear, a companion of dead hopes. as change and i embrace, you cry out for me to stop.

"please don't leave me"

and i turn, my toes beginning to leave the crumbling edge, looking at you, pleading.

"please don't make me stay."

and then i free-flew/fall.

and you watched, desperately wishing for the courage, desperately clinging to familiar ground, desperately wishing that life didn't dictate moving forward. 

desperate.

breathing. such a simple, yet vital act.
you ingest some of the bad when you swallow a large portion of what is good for you.
then when you exhale, the majority of the bad is filtered right back out, leaving you to enjoy the good and whole that uplifts you and ignites your senses…

like your body requires this trial and tribulation process; and maybe life does too.

yesterday I did an hour long session of energy (or as my instructor likes to call it: "hot") flow yoga. this morning I woke up with a fierce kind of soreness reaching across my ribs, up my inner thighs, and racing through my triceps anytime i moved. it was beautiful! 

as a gymnast for 6 years, it's hard to make me feel less limber than the average human--and very rarely is my yoga routine a source for soreness. here's a sure fire way to feel energy all day and a deep needed heat the next morning:

mountain pose into
cat-cow pose (repeat 5 times) into
childs pose into
half downward dog into
warrior pose (repeat childs pose to downward dog to warrior 5 times) into
half downward dog into
child's pose into
half plank pose into
cobra into
half plank pose (repeat child's pose to half plank to cobra to half plank 5 times) into
half downward dog into
full downward dog into
warrior pose
into mountain pose

follow this up the next morning with a 20 mile bike run and feel the balance come back :)

your breath comes in even beats, swelling and erupting like the ocean, subsiding like the tide. slowly i open my eyes, let my gaze rest on your bare shoulders, the freckles on your spine, the soft curve of your back flanked by the warm muscle of your body. 

turning, your eyes flutter like guppies new to the bottom of the reef, this colorful place we call the world, overwhelmed and unsteady in the magnificence of all the light, shadow, and form surrounding. they close tightly, and you unconsciously reach for my side, pulling me close so that i can join you in syncopated harmony. 

tendrils of adoration and anticipation race through my veins, and settle in my throat; i’m biding my time, hiding in the sand with you.

moments like these always recede with the rising sun, taking the wonderment of starfish and starlight, and leaving only the residue of seaweed and kelp on the shores of our memory—it’s never as perfect as the moment it happened. 

but in those moments, i find relief from the world that becomes more surreal and watery with each passing day... water never stays in one place, in one form, for any particular being or object of life—we drink it up and wash it out of our bones—it constantly has to flow, an object forever in motion. 

you are a part of the water in my life, rolling forward and moving the sand beneath my feet, then pulling backward, trying to take me with you. and sometimes i just float in your current, letting your liquid embrace completely wrap me up, and take me out to sea. 

this morning we traveled around the world in our sleep, simply because you held me.

my icy hands remind me of what i am to you--only half alive and barely human. i examine them closely, tracing the blue veins like frosty rivers, disappearing into the snowcapped crook of my elbow. 

i glance down at your arm, swinging freely at your side without an inclination to lace your fingers in mine; this pain is too much, but these words just won't tumble out of my mouth, for fear of inadequacy and a lack of poetic flow. 

they would come out in half masticated phrases, gesticulated by rolling sobs that continually bubble to the surface of my breathing, my chest heaving and quivering with this aching aching desire for you to reach out and tell me that tomorrow we'll awaken with the sun pouring orange-juice rays into our faces, half tangled in each other's legs, and the brewing tea's subtle scent accompanying the clumsy brush of our half-awake lips. that four years means too much to give up the ghost on this apparition of our once tangent love. that we are weaved in this delicate mold we call our life, that we created, and that we will live. 

we can change it, i swear. we're no different than the weather, guided only by our surrounding nature and chemical reactions and inertia and physics and gravity. these emotions are just the swell of internal waves; we roll back into our memories, and sometimes our current drags the past back to our shore, yet just like anything else in nature, we can clean ourselves up, and rid ourselves of the things that don't suit our needs. 

but i don't say a word, and when you see me crying and ask what's wrong, i only say that nature makes me feel all too real.

your mouth opens, spilling the hot recourse that is our love gone to spoil. ladling it evenly into my bowl, i drink this boiling poison, forgetting the words that i know are true. forgetting the moments that took my breath away... i replace these sustaining and stinging forgone pasts with the the hot soup of your loud monologue, the spit on your teeth, your hands coiled in fists. the only hope i have is to perish in this fire--let it consume my every wit and labored cycle of blood. when i am reduced to ashes, sooty and neutral, free of memory-laden emotions, reactions, and the urge to hold your hand... when i am nothing more than the gray matter in the space between the soil and the core, i might then be able to emerge as a phoenix--indestructible and tempered by the heat of forgetting.

with each waking moments, i'm trying to force myself to start. 

to start making you the perpetrator so i can forget.

and each moment wilts away, and i continue eating away at my insides.

sometimes people grow a part. i have been contemplating leaving for months... he just landed his dream job. we both care for each other enough to not want to become bitter about the situation and let things get ugly.

my fiance and i are breaking up over the next 3 months. we're planning it... It strikes me as slightly bizarre... but strangely, i'm almost completely indifferent to this process. writing poetically about it won't make it any easier, any more transparent, any less real, or any faster, but i'm addicted.

this is when i gasp for air--struggling to rise, rise, rise. 

"ahh don't call me mr. walsh--you're... well you're christina... unless you want me to call you ms. wilson..." your laughter erupts. 

i want to catch every musical note, keep it for myself, and never let another soul hear it again. i want to burn them as they ripple through the air in waves. i want to destroy you, i want to be rid of you, i want to degrade you. i want you, more strongly than anything else i've ever wanted in my life before... this desire is eating at me--where i was once so steadily in control of every movement with the precision of a surgeon, i now tremble involuntarily like a shaking leaf drifting in the wind.

"oh? i'm not going to be ms. wilson for much longer..." i say it quietly, letting the ragged breath escape. everything in me waits for the sting to rip your even breathing into unpredictable short gasps.

"exactly why i should start calling you ms. wilson today... there is only so much time left." you state it factually. all business as usual--i enjoy this game... it's the aching within this anticipation.

my itunes switches on ExoGenesis parts I-III. this couldn't feel any more perfect... yet my feelings aren't trust worthy, aren't stable, aren't set in stone. i need the stony reassurance of fact, rationalism.

you cough.

"tell me about Cali..."

you remind me of stone... your long lean lines, bones that flow, ebb, and give to skin. you aren't in any way an Adonis... but your fingers were made for a piano, for the bow, the sand blaster, and the gloves we wore the day we played in the snow. the gaunt muscles of your body are fluid, and it only adds to the grace that your persona radiates, from your smile to your motionless, floating walk. it's as if every creature in nature's library, every form, was made to bend to the glorious body you adorn like silk chemise. 

"Cali is beautiful... i'm getting more sun than i think i've ever had in my entire life. the foliage is perfectly green, and the ocean is deep blue. you should visit."

"ah the wonder that is your milky skin... have you burned yet?" you ignore my invitation, enticing me with your words, dripping like gold off of your tongue. i'd rather live like a pauper than be baited by you!

"i have on a few occasions, but now my skin is adjusting accordingly..." i hold my own. you dip in and out of formality, familiarity, the function of fucking me in the ear with your tongue. we both know this game.

"i'll send over the invoice as requested. how is the beau?"

"he is... loving the weather." i push the smile in my voice, like a candy vendor to an all to willing child. it's apparent already though--you know my mannerisms, my addresses of proprietary claims.

"is he..." your breath is caught, and your voice is raw, "loving you?" snap. i just won our little game of cat and mouse, as you wriggle and writhe in my unintentional trap... and i'm not enjoying it the way i want to. the longing in your voice is deep, ragged, and intensely earnest... so thick i could eat it.

"you'd love it here. do come and visit soon, mr. walsh..." i push the bile down my throat. this time i shall acquiesce, and allow you to pass unscathed... for every time the flame touches your heart, i'm burning with you. i can't burn today.

the last notes tinkle out of my speakers.

"i'll be in Laguna the first weekend of September... will you show me around?" you've gained your composure, your voice stiff and vague. 

"it would be my pleasure. is there anything else i can pass on from your office?"

"only a personal note to the esteemed ms. wilson."

"oh?"

"yes. we're almost there."

we were wild and entangled. your in my thoughts from the time i wake--our barely relevant conversations, and sidelong glances.

where are we to go?

all 63 of my books have arrived from barnes and noble :)

i have 45 classic hardbacks to read ranging from Frankenstein to Sense and Sensibility to Beowolf...

i've already read more than half of these books, but i'm of the firm belief that a new book demands your attention, no matter how repetitive.

:D

now i'm undecided... this is GORGEOUS...